Two dark blue SUVs emblazoned with state trooper yellow reflective badges sped by in the westbound lane. They were followed by two Rural Metro ambulances. A wrecker played Johnny-come-lately. “Pull over,” shouted Steve. “Pull the fuck over.”
Janson reluctantly obliged the car’s tires growling on the rumble strip as he eased onto the shoulder. Steve barely waited for the car to come to a rolling stop before he hopped out. Janson said something, but Steve didn’t hear it over the slamming door.
Steve stomped off heading west, back towards the airport. Pavement disappeared under his shoes as cars whizzed past in the opposite direction.
Steve started mumbling to himself as he crammed his hands into his pockets. He said, “Why the fuck didn’t you just take the insurance job Steve? That would’ve been a smart move. But, no. You had to choose Sabotron. Brilliant move. Fucking moron.” He continued on chanting a mantra of deprecation.
Steve was interrupted by the whine of the Toyota’s transmission as it reversed down the road. Janson pulled up beside Steve, threw open the passenger door and yelled, “Quit being a pussy. Get in!”
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